Elegantly Wasted
by Mala
Summary: A post-Civil War AU. Carly, Sonny, Lorenzo, and others. How far would you go for the man you love? Complete.
1. Chapter One

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 1/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love?  
  
A hush seemed to fall over the room...at least the female portion, when the man appeared at the top of the stairs and was announced as Senor Alcazar, a plantation owner from Venezuela. He was dressed impeccably, from head to toe, in black. From the crisp frock coat to his Hessians to the scarf at his throat. Everything about him, in fact, was dark... except for his eyes. Even from this distance, it was clear they were a startling blue. His hair was just a tad too long for fashion...deliciously indecent.  
  
Just the way Caroline liked it.  
  
"He's a widower," the other woman confided from behind her rapidly- moving fan. "Tragic, really. They say that his wife died down in Brazil or some place like that. The poor dear... she probably expired from *exhaustion.*"  
  
"Tragic", thought Caroline, really meant "advantageous."  
  
There wasn't a man in New Orleans safe from Faith Flynn's roving eye and her even *more* roving hands.  
  
She had to admit, though, that the other woman was right. The man across the grand ballroom was something. She didn't know what exactly... but definitely *something*.  
  
Of course, the society matrons, the biddies, and their simpering daughters would get first pick. Even as she had the thought, Janine Baldwin -- the mayor's wife-- was pushing her insipid little Courtney forward. The scared rabbit would faint if anyone so much as said "boo" to her and this sleek, dark, wolf would probably eat her up.  
  
Women like Caroline, like Faith...like the stately, beautiful, Gia... they were here merely for courtesy, for decoration.  
  
For entertainment.  
  
Caroline searched the crowd for her friend, a tall, exotic, quadroon whose family had emigrated from the islands after the War Between the States. There was no denying that Gia Campbell turned heads... and warmed beds.  
  
She would never, ever, be the wife of one of the men here.  
  
None of them would.  
  
That didn't mean they couldn't have high aspirations.  
  
Caroline left Faith talking to a vaguely slick lawyer who would, no doubt, be her "tragic" conquest for the evening and moved around the perimeter of the ball. The music was loud, rollicking, full of fiddles and piano and the champagne flowed as freely as the money changing hands.  
  
The room was overfilled and while she was thankful for the low neckline of her red silk gown, she was infinitely *not* thankful for the underskirt and the hoops below. "I'm a whore," she'd complained to Miss Bobbie, "it's all just going to come off anyway." "My girls are high class!" the madam had reminded, sharply. "Now behave yourself, Caroline and be careful tonight."  
  
One was always careful at Michael Corinthos's balls.  
  
Many a man had been known to wind up floating face-down in the bayou for forgetting that simple rule.  
  
The mayor and his staff turned a blind eye, of course. A former privateer who'd smuggled goods during the War, Corinthos knew how to get things done.  
  
Now, there was a sweet deal that could set a girl up for life. There were worse things than being the most powerful man in New Orleans' mistress. But Caroline was smarter than that. She knew Michael from way back... before this fancy house in the Garden district...when they'd both cruised the docks. Those black eyes and those dimples alone had been worth the tumbles on his ship that had left her wobbly and sea-legged for days.  
  
You could dress him in lily-white suits and spit-shine his shoes and put a pretty maid on his arm, but he was still dangerous. He was still a pirate at heart and gold flashed across his palm like magic. So did the silver of knives.  
  
There were worse things than being his mistress... but there were better things, too.  
  
"Caroline..."  
  
His voice was like the silk of her dress. Smooth, slippery, and stuck to her skin. His mouth feathered across the back of her hand in greeting even though he knew she was no lady.  
  
"Michael," she greeted, civilly, tapping her closed fan against her thigh.  
  
His eyes flickered with amusement, and a sensation fizzed through her like too much sloe gin. "I'm glad you could come."  
  
"Miss Bobbie's could use the business," she said with a shrug.  
  
"And you...? You struggling? Miguel?" The question was loaded ...inappropriate. One *never* asked after a whore's bastard children...but their relationship had never been quite proper.  
  
"Miguel is fine, thank you." They both knew it was Michael's continued patronage that kept her son at the convent school where know one would know what his mother did to earn a living. He was six. The light of her life. But as she couldn't be a wife...she couldn't really be a mother either. He was safe with Sister Leticia and her order.  
  
The fan tapped more firmly against her thigh and she willed the nervous motion to stop, clenching her fingers around the handle. "I was searching for Gia. Have you seen her this evening?"  
  
Michael nodded towards the stairs..."She was going out to the lawn for some air with some Russian royal. I don't even know how he wrangled an invitation."  
  
She laughed despite herself. "Sweetheart, when you throw a party... people come from miles around whether they're invited or not. You *are* a sensation. This is the place to be."  
  
The comment pleased him. As it was meant to. He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm, pleased by her involuntary shiver, too.  
  
Oh, nights with Michael were the best she had ever had...  
  
The problem was...in the morning he came back to this house.  
  
To his wife.  
  
"The lady of the manor feeling indisposed tonight?" she wondered, cattily. Faith's indiscretion was her cross to bear. Gia's was her beauty. Her own... was her tongue.  
  
He squeezed her fingers in warning. "She's visiting her family in Charleston."  
  
The Hardys of Charleston. Also in shipping. Really one of the few profitable industries after the war. Their name held history, honor, credence... and their bloodline had bought Michael his ticket into society.  
  
He was just lucky that his sweet young bride took frequent trips to South Carolina because the city was too vibrant, too noisy, too busy, for her delicate constitution. Mayhap her husband was too vibrant for her as well.  
  
"So, I suppose you'll be wanting company?" She batted her lashes in an imitation of flirtation.  
  
"I might, Miz Caroline." This time he swatted her, gently. An echo of what he liked in the bedroom. "But I have bigger plans for you."  
  
It soon became clear exactly what those big plans were, as he guided her through the throng of biddies towards the man of the hour who had turned her head, and everyone else's, only moments before. Little Courtney and her hangers-on flinched back, as if Caroline's occupation, and her deep capacity for pleasure, was somehow contagious and she smiled, archly, at them before Michael stopped with her in front of Senor Alcazar.  
  
"Lorenzo Alcazar...may I introduce the delightful and dazzling, Caroline Benson?"  
  
Delightful? Dazzling? She resisted the urge to kick his ankle and focused on the eyes that were even bluer at close range.  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet one more beautiful flower in this city's exotic garden." The gentleman bowed low before her hand and then took it and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Even that light touch was made of fire. If Michael was gin, this man was whiskey.  
  
And if Michael wanted her with him... he was important.  
  
"Some flowers are more exotic than others, wouldn't you say?" she murmured, wryly.  
  
A small smile played at the corners of Alcazar's lips. The power of it was staggering... so much so that she wondered what a full smile would do. Mayhap like the little bunny, this wolf would eat her up, too. "That only makes them more tempting to pluck...wouldn't *you* say, Senorita?"  
  
"Mmmm...I see we're of like minds, Senor." She curtsied, dipping low, and felt both his eyes and Michael's on the shadow of her breasts.  
  
"Would you care to dance?" His voice and his gaze were heavy yet soft... signs she knew all too well. Signs that would lead them straight to bed. Or the floor. The chaise. The wall.  
  
"All night long if you desire." She flowed into his arms with ease and he took her hands in his strong, suntanned ones.  
  
As he whirled her away to the music, into the crush, she was all too aware of Michael's expression. Like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.  
  
Big plans indeed...  
  
She just hoped he remembered that she was just a whore.  
  
Not a thief.  
  
And not a killer. 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 2/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love?  
  
"How long will you be in our fair city, Senor?"  
  
"Please...call me Lorenzo." The way his hands lingered on her waist were entirely improper... but the wine had dulled most of the crowd's senses. To the point where she could see even the marshals who accompanied the mayor to all his events were deep, deep in their cups.  
  
She suspected that she could take the good senor Alcazar right here and the honorable misters Spencer and Smith would simply smile and wave in greeting.  
  
And Michael...Michael would love it.  
  
He was the most perverse and depraved man she knew.  
  
As she moved with the tall Venezuelan to the rhythm of the waltz, she could feel him watching them. Calculating. Waiting.  
  
"How long will you be in our fair city, *Lorenzo*?" she amended, tilting her head so she could look at the handsome devil full in the face.  
  
"As long as it takes for my business to conclude...and then I shall return to my coffee plantation outside of Caracas." He shrugged, dispassionately, and the breadth of his shoulders moved elegantly beneath the tailored fit of his coat. It cost him no effort whatsoever to dance... she had the sense that he could dance, conduct business, and create the world all at the same time.  
  
"To your wife?" She asked the saucy question before she could stop herself, thinking mutinously of Elizabeth Hardy and her pasty little muffin face.  
  
Lorenzo chuckled huskily. "No...no, I'm afraid I have no wife. I have not yet found someone who will...what's that American saying...? 'Put up with me'?"  
  
Oh, there were plenty of women in Louisiana who would put up with this man. Caroline was certain of that. If not for his eyes and his finesse on the ballroom floor then for what was surely a hefty fortune. "You may just find yourself leaving married, Senor," she said, with amusement. "You're quite a catch."  
  
"Is that why Mister Corinthos has made this fortuitous introduction?" He arched an eyebrow, deliberately baiting her.  
  
"Oh, no..." Her hand discreetly found its way beneath his coat and he drew in a sharp breath. "I'm not the kind of girl you marry." She leaned forward, whispering against his cheek, "I'm the kind of girl you take back to your hotel and let have her wicked way with you."  
  
His fingers were warm against her bare back, her throat, the tops of her breasts. "Corinthos really intends to lend me his woman?" he wondered. "I did not know such courtesies were observed in your country."  
  
"Oh, I am *not* his woman!" Caroline assured, emphatically. "I am no man's woman!" Except for Miguel's. Her little boy owned her heart and soul. But that was not Lorenzo Alcazar's concern. Or her own at the moment...  
  
No...she had her goal for the night. Pleasure. Mutual pleasure.  
  
Unfortunately, Michael had his goals as well. Was she to take note of the senor's pillow talk? To search his belongings after he collapsed, sated, beside her? You could never tell with him... and he had yet to let her in on the game.  
  
Maybe he wanted her to work her magic first...  
  
She had no problem with that.  
  
"Would you care to join me for a private drink, Senorita?"  
  
"There's nothing I would like better."  
  
***  
  
"You know...up until recently, this hotel was a coffee warehouse."  
  
The glasses clinked as he poured them each a flute of sparkling champagne.  
  
"I do know that, actually." She kept the wistful note out of her voice, stalling in her subtle act of disrobing. All she had managed to undo were her stockings and she left them on the floor by the bed as she accepted her glass. Michael had owned this building once...Michael and his partner. *Before*.  
  
Alcazar loosened the knot of his scarf with one hand. "Why do you think they sold the property?"  
  
"No futures in coffee?" She shrugged, and the bubbles in the wine tickled her throat. "I'm not a businesswoman, Senor Lorenzo."  
  
He arched his brows, speculatively. "Aren't you?"  
  
"I provide a service to gentlemen of independent means," she clarified, delicately.  
  
He prowled the room like the wolf she had first associated with him... slow, stalking, movements... as he drained his champagne to the last drop. "Of your own free will?" he wondered, stopping at the room's fireplace, staring into the hearth, where the fire burned bright.  
  
"Women don't have free will, Lorenzo. All we have are a few opportunities." She began to, deftly, unbutton the tiny pearl hooks that ended at the base of her spine. "Seamstress?" She made an amused noise. "Nurse." A chuckle. "Nun?" A full burst of laughter. "I chose 'whore.'"  
  
"What of 'wife'?" he countered, eyes glittering as she pushed her bodice down over her shoulders, baring the clingy silk chemise beneath.  
  
"Same difference. At least I get paid for what those poor milk-fed goody-goodies have to dish out for free."  
  
"And how much do *you* pay? What is *that* price, Caroline?" he asked, softly.  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
Didn't dare.  
  
Instead, she stepped out of her dress and drew him close. 


	3. Chapter Three

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 3/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: A tangled web is being woven around Caroline...  
  
She was always aware of the air when she was making love to a man. How heavy it was with the heat and the scent of magnolias...how it brushed over her bare skin. Often times, it was the air that carried her through the act, filtering through her lungs like opium.  
  
Now...now she was only aware of one thing. One. This man's hands on her...the heat of his palms as he caressed her shoulders, smoothed down her arms and linked his fingers with hers.  
  
"Let me teach you, querida," he murmured, eyes hooded and dark like the sky before a storm... "Let me teach you the difference between a whore and a wife."  
  
"There's not a whole lot I have left to learn."  
  
She reared up on her toes, aligning their bodies, as she took his lips in a kiss...cupping the back of his head as she tilted his mouth to hers and teasingly nipped at his tongue. He tasted like wine and fire and animal. Something primal, from the forest. And, like everything primal... there was no safety, no limit. The teasing turned tide quickly as he grabbed her hips, pulling her firmly between his powerful thighs, and slanted his mouth against hers again and again...  
  
She had been with many men in her life. Rich, not so rich. Handsome, not so handsome. Ones that took her breath away and ones that made her close eyes and pray that they didn't leave her face scarred...or her soul. Lorenzo was neither the best nor the worst...  
  
He was remarkable. Unique.  
  
He lifted her up in his arms before she had time to think... bearing her, effortlessly, to the bed where the chambermaid had already turned down the counterpane... and once there, he did not hastily remove his suit coat, his trousers...nor his shirt...no... instead he simply sank back on the mattress and gazed at her...as if she was something to be savored. The wolf's succulent dish of lamb. After a long moment or two, she almost wanted to fidget ...to busy herself slipping out of her chemise...but she couldn't... she was pinned by his eyes.  
  
No one had looked at her that way in a long time. Like she was beautiful. Pure. Something to be cherished, not bought and sold.  
  
"Lorenzo...?"   
  
He laid two fingers across her lips, just barely shaking his head. "Shhh."  
  
And, there, in the candlelight, he stripped for her...first his cravat, then his coat and belt. He tugged his crisp white shirt from his pants and when he unbuttoned it, revealing the sun-bronzed skin beneath, her mouth went dry. He was beautiful, too. Pure. Imminently cherishable.  
  
The marriageable ladies of New Orleans were lucky indeed.  
  
She was luckier still...because she got to have him first.  
  
She gasped when he pressed his mouth to the arch of her foot. Then, her ankle. Up the lines of her calves...the backs of her knees. A wordless cry rode on the air as he moved higher still, to the place where half her unfulfilled desires lived. And as she was still reeling from that decadent sensation, he kissed the hollow place between her breasts...where the other half lived... and then buried himself deep inside her.  
  
"*Lorenzo*."  
  
She locked her legs around his waist, rising to meet his every demand. Hard, then gentle, then gentler still. Taking her mouth, stealing her breath, conquering her tongue the same way he was conquering her. No... not conquering... wooing, teasing...asking for her complete surrender with honeyed Spanish words and wicked fingers drumming a sharp rhythm against her hips.  
  
When it was over, she sank, limply, into the tangle of sheets, her entire body boneless, spent, and yet still wanting, throbbing, for his attention. "So, that's how you treat a prostitute in Caracas?" she wondered, barely breathing.  
  
"No...no, Caroline..." he whispered, tenderly, against her temple, "That is how I would make love to my bride."  
  
***  
  
"Is it done? Is she with him?"  
  
He nursed the glass of rum, staring, darkly, into the fire as the sweet liquor drowned his tongue. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."  
  
"Good." Not even a satisfied smile. Just a clipped, "Good. Everything is going according to plan."  
  
The other man's hair was nearly golden in the light. He'd always looked like an angel... but Michael had always known he was far from it. His best friend lacked passion, lacked emotion... had only ferocious focus, only terrible drive.  
  
The selfsame focus and drive that had made him climb out of Hell.  
  
And bring a piece of it back with him... 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 4/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa,  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: It's about to get even more confusing...  
  
He traced his fingers over the pale, half-moon shaped scar that ran across her belly and she shivered, turning away from the light streaming in the windows, from his questing touch.  
  
"A doctor cut me up a while back. You know...whore's malady...it happens ..." she murmured, absently. It was morning...time for her to conclude the night's business and go back to her room at Miss Bobbie's...possibly pick up a few bored gentlemen if neither Faith nor Gia or the likes of Samantha and Skye were back from their appointments.  
  
"You bore a child." It was not a question but a statement. The senor pulled her against his chest, preventing her from climbing out of the bed. Apparently, like Michael, he gave no thought to propriety. To what one ought and ought not discuss with their paramours.  
  
She closed her eyes... trying to forget...failing. "I bled...and bled...they had to cut him out of me..." She had screamed. There had not been enough laudanum to dull the pain. But, then again, when had she ever been able to dull the pain? "It didn't stop hurting until they put him in my arms."  
  
"Where is he now?"  
  
"Safe. Away from this life."  
  
There was a strange note in Lorenzo's voice as he kissed the back of her neck. Sad. Regretful. "Why are you not with him?"  
  
"I told you...I would make a horrible nun. Sister Mary Caroline taking priests in the pews of Queen of Angels? Can you see that? God would strike me dead."  
  
He swore, quietly, in Spanish...as if her joke upset him...and when she turned in his embrace, she kissed the downward curve of his sensual lips until he forgot...until he forgot that he had bedded a common prostitute...and she forgot she was ever something more.  
  
***  
  
"You know...if you had simply told me what I needed to know...none of this would have been necessary." Before he could speak, explain, a hand was waved dismissively. "No...don't worry. I know you're a man of honor and you always keep your word."  
  
Michael...a man of honor...it was a laughable thought considering how many dishonorable things he had done in his life. Was it honorable to refrain from *telling* his friend what he knew... but to allow him to use whatever means necessary to find it out for himself?  
  
No. There was no honor in such deception.  
  
"The bitch deserves it, Michael. I have waited far too long to have my revenge."  
  
He jerked his head up, fist closing around the fork but too late to catch the knife... and it clattered into his eggs. "You won't call her a bitch again," he warned, softly.  
  
In the daylight, there were no delusions of angels. In the daylight, the other man looked as dark, as cold, as the sins that coated his insides. He simply shrugged as he cut into his rare portion of steak, nodding approval at the raw, bloody, center. "As you wish."  
  
No...not as he wished.  
  
Michael Corinthos was the most powerful man in New Orleans... and this was most certainly not what he wanted.  
  
He stared across the long mahogany table at a man who should have sunk to the bottom of the swamp six years ago...at a man who thought nothing of preying on women and using children as a bargaining tool.  
  
At that moment, with his breakfast lodging in his throat and sickness brewing in his stomach, Michael fervently, silently, wished that Jason Morgan had stayed dead. 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 5/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa, J/S-ish, slightly slashy.  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far, it seems...  
  
Notes: Thanks MzMocha, Lerdo, Leigh, Laura, Aria! I'm so glad you gave this AU a shot!  
  
She had never slept the day away in a gentleman's company.  
  
So when she awakened, mid-afternoon, in the great four-poster bed in the hotel's most expensive suite, for a moment she forgot where she was...who she was...who she was with. She thought it was some kind of wonderful dream where steaming pots of chocolate were always warm on the bedside table and men reading newspapers in the nearby armchair simply looked up and smiled.  
  
"You won't chide me for letting you rest, will you, Caroline?" he asked, softly, the pages of the paper rustling as he folded it lengthwise across his lap.  
  
"I won't...but Miss Bobbie might," she murmured, ruefully, stretching her arms above her head as she sat upright.  
  
"I sent a messenger to her establishment hours ago. She is aware that she will be compensated for your time." Lorenzo's smile suddenly faltered. His eyes going smoky. "One more night," he said, barely audible. "I asked for one more night."  
  
"Darlin', you can have as many nights as you want," she assured, reaching for his fallen shirt, pulling it on...inhaling his scent as it surrounded her. Tobacco, cologne, man. "You can have them for *free*."  
  
The news didn't seem to please him. If anything, her flirtation seemed to only darken his all ready dour demeanor.  
  
"Remember I asked you what price you pay...?" At her confused nod, he swallowed, hard, and looked away...staring into the now-banked fire. "We all have our price."  
  
She slid from the bed, padding barefoot to where he sat. "Lorenzo...I don't understand..." she began, kneeling beside him and placing her hand on his arm.  
  
"I had a brother. Luis. After the wars... he initiated shipping contracts with several of your southern companies...but his business decisions were not sound." Under her palm, his wrist was solid, so tensed it was fairly throbbing. "He was reckless. *Estupido*. He incurred debts with the wrong man... debts he was never able to repay."  
  
"Where is your brother now?" she asked, gently.  
  
"Dead." A morbid chuckle tinged with grief. "His mistress pushed him from the balcony of our hacienda."  
  
Caroline shivered...but she teased him with her voice, with her most effective charms as she tossed away his ignored newspaper and climbed into his lap. "Are you afraid you'll fall because of me, Senor?"  
  
He threaded his fingers through her hair, thumb caressing her cheek. "Querida...I all ready have..." he murmured against her lips.  
  
Then, there was no more talk of time, of business, of prices. Just the parting of clothes and the heat of him and her nails digging into the plush upholstery of the chair as he rocked into her.  
  
It was only afterwards, as she gasped against his sweat-slick throat and prayed to saints long forgotten, that she realized she had not thought of Michael once...  
  
And that she still didn't know why she'd been given such a gift.  
  
***  
  
"Queen of Angels. Beautiful. Perfect."  
  
As the door clicked shut behind the boy who had brought the message, Michael watched the pale light in his former partner's eyes burn even brighter and paler. Like the swamp fires that had, no doubt, burned vengeance so deeply into his soul.  
  
The house was cold...freezing despite the heat in the air and the depth of Jason's hatred, and he was thankful that Elizabeth had heeded his warning and taken this well-timed trip to see her family. She was so young, so soft and naive and so unused to the ugliness that clung to the underbelly of New Orleans. He did not want his wife in this world... in this place...and he was determined to keep her safe. Alive.  
  
He could not make the same concession for Caroline. Or for himself.  
  
No. Their fates had been written long ago.  
  
When he had first held that tiny baby boy in his arms.  
  
"I won't have Miguel hurt," he murmured, turning towards the windows... towards the street below where carriages ran smoothly over the bricks and no one...no one in their afternoon finery had any clue how black the world could be.  
  
Jason laughed. It was an empty sound... like coins being tossed into a dried-up fountain. "I don't intend to hurt him. Just his mother. Her well-deserved reward. As ye sow, so shall ye reap, isn't it? Do you think she'll like the marshes...? Do you think she'll wake up with no memory of who she was...? Covered in leeches? Crawling through the muck?" The hand on his shoulder made him start...as it always had. "Michael...I know what you think of me now... but don't you remember how it used to be? Before...?"  
  
Of course. Too many cheap drinks. Sleeping in one bunk in the rusty hold of a cargo ship for warmth...and other comforts. Blood. Pain. Stumbling out of whorehouses together and spinning dreams about making it rich.  
  
And he remembered the hand raised in anger. Leaving bruises... breaking ribs...as the baby wailed for its mama from the next room. He remembered the fireplace poker being grabbed, blindly...swung again and again...blood and hair clinging to it.  
  
"I will have my reparation. I have waited too long...I have all the players in place... and you will not fail me again."  
  
He remembered that failure, too. Dragging the limp body down the servants' stairs, through the kitchens, and ignoring the whispers as the horse cart drew up at the back door of the bordello.  
  
"No," he agreed, wrapping his fingers in the gauzy curtains, clutching them so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "I gave you my word. My loyalty is to you now."  
  
Unsmiling lips branded the back of his neck, sent the kiss deep like a knife's blade.  
  
"I know that. But I also know where your heart lies. With Caroline. And my son." 


	6. Chapter Six

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 6/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: What exactly happened that night...and will the repercussions cost too much?  
  
"Where in tarnation is Caroline? Her room is locked and I need to borrow her blue dress!"  
  
"What do you need a dress for anyhow...? You won't be wearing it long."  
  
"It's about the presentation, Samantha, Sugar. *Class*. Something you wouldn't understand."  
  
"Ha. You can't even *spell* 'class', Faith."  
  
As the battle began raging, with cheap china flying across the sitting room, Miss Bobbie sighed and poured herself a stiff shot of bourbon. It wasn't her first of the day and it certainly would not be her last.  
  
Two of her girls had not come home the night before. Gia, she was not concerned with. Russian princes were hard to land the favor of, and she'd always known that her most beautiful, most unique, worker would not be with her for long. Perhaps he would take her abroad, set her up in a castle somewhere, with the best dressmakers and a legion of servants.  
  
She was lucky.  
  
Caroline...Caroline was not. She never had been. And maybe that was why she was the closest to Bobbie's heart. She saw herself in that girl. A fighter. Born in dirt and determined to make something of herself no matter what got in her way ...what or *who*...  
  
Even someone like Jason Morgan.  
  
That was a night that still haunted her nightmares all these years later. A night where the screaming from the last upstairs room on the left had roused the entire house from their beds...occupied or not.  
  
*"Hand him over, you no good bitch!"*  
  
*"There is no way in HELL I'll let you take my baby!"*  
  
*"I'll take whatever I *want*!"*  
  
*"Not anymore...*not* anymore...!"*  
  
She'd bolted upright and reached for her pistol and ammunition.  
  
There was only one way to deal with customers who got violent... especially with children around. Never mind that it was bad business to let one of her girls keep a baby in the place... she'd had her reasons. And she had been ready to protect them.  
  
The body being dragged down the back stairs had told her she was too late. Someone had taken care of the problem all ready. Messily, too, judging by the blood.  
  
Michael Corinthos had bought her silence, first with the deadly look in his eye and then with cash.  
  
That had been the end of her bad business decisions.  
  
Caroline had packed her baby boy off to a convent, the swamps had swallowed sin, and Corinthos made certain that her whores were the most coveted in town. As perfect a life as people like them could manage.  
  
But Miss Bobbie couldn't shake the feeling that all of that hard- earned perfection was on the verge of crumbling into dust...  
  
A fragile china bride turned to powder in the fireplace... and she poured herself one more dose of denial.  
  
***  
  
Every once in a while, a girl got a gentleman. Somebody who ordered champagne up to the room, strawberries, too, and wanted to stay tangled in the sheets for hours just drinking and talking about nothing at all.  
  
Of course, morning always came. It was always over eventually.  
  
Caroline knew, all too well, that no man could be gentle forever.  
  
Yet, Lorenzo felt like an exception. Every time he moved into her arms, he touched her like she was precious, worthy, and *his*. "One night," he had said..."one more night..." She wanted this one night to last an eternity.  
  
That was a dangerous desire for a whore.  
  
He had fallen asleep after their last bout of lovemaking...exhausted by her arsenal of talents... and now he was fitful in slumber. Twitching...moaning softly against her fingers as she stroked his thick, dark, hair and tried to soothe him. She was unused to giving this kind of comfort. All Caroline knew how to do was offer her body.  
  
"No...por favor...no..."  
  
"Shhh...hush, Senor...I'm here..."  
  
It was Sister Leticia who kissed away Miguel's bruises, who sang away his nightmares. She barely knew her own son. Their embraces in the chapel were always formal, perfunctory, as she inhaled his sweet little boy scent and tried not to see his father in the blue of his eyes.  
  
This man, Lorenzo, made her want more. He made her want to touch freely, to give freely, and to take. He made her remember childhood...eating orange slices and dancing in the ocean.  
  
Tomorrow, she would simply have to forget.  
  
"Caroline..."  
  
"I'm here," she repeated, softly, as he turned his face into the hollow of her throat and whispered her name again, more desperately.  
  
And then it wasn't her name at all, but one from her nightmares. From her secret Hell...a Hell thought long-buried in the marshes.  
  
"Jason....damn you...damn you, Morgan..."  
  
No.  
  
*"We all have our price."*  
  
No.  
  
*"He was reckless. Estupido. He incurred debts with the wrong man... debts he was never able to repay."*  
  
It couldn't be. And it could. It *could*. Demons like Jason Morgan never quite died, did they? No matter how hard you hit them. No matter how deep you buried them. How fervently you cursed their name.  
  
The only thing that died forever in a whore's world was...hope.  
  
She shrank back from the stranger in the rented bed... reached, shakily, for her discarded gown.  
  
Everyone...everything...had a price.  
  
Every once in a while, a girl got a gentleman... and then she woke up.  
  
Alone. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 7/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: You can't change the inevitable.  
  
Hours and a lifetime ago, Caroline had found a man across the ballroom intriguing. Now she knew more about him than she had ever wanted to learn. More about herself. More about what she could never have...  
  
A moment's peace.  
  
He awoke while she was dressing, stirring slowly as the sleep fell from his eyes. She cursed, once again, the out-of-fashion hoops, the stockings, that Miss Bobbie had insisted she wear over her chemise.  
  
"Where...?" His voice was raspy, as if he'd forgotten how to use it. Aged and worn from his secrets. "Where...where are you going?"  
  
She started on the row of faux pearl buttons that fastened the back of her gown, hooking them one after the other efficiently. "A messenger came while you were asleep," she lied, fluidly. "Miguel has scarlet fever and he's crying for his mama." She did not routinely make bargains with God, but she sent up a silent prayer that her fabrication would not become truth. "I have to leave for the convent immediately."  
  
Her voice was vaguely high and shrill to her own ears, but this, at least, was honest. She had to reach her boy...she had to make certain he was safe.  
  
She had to be certain that Jason Morgan could not reach him from beyond the grave.  
  
Lorenzo's handsome, deceitful, face had drained of all color and he threw aside the sheets as he climbed, purposefully, from the bed. "Let me come with you, querida."  
  
"No," she cried, far too quickly. Too indiscreetly. "No...you've all ready done enough for me, Senor," she assured. with more restraint. She closed her eyes so the sudden tears, the mark of his betrayal, would not show. "Please...please just let me leave."  
  
He crossed the room in two rapid strides, uncaring of his nudity, and even with the horrors she had heard from his lips, she could not look away. Gold and brown and muscle and sinew. He was a beautiful liar.  
  
Just like her.  
  
So, she could not hate him. She understood him.  
  
She understood the cost.  
  
"Caroline." He took her face in his palms, tilting her eyes up, forcing her to look...to feel the bitterly tender brush of his mouth against her cheek. "I'm sorry."  
  
She tasted blood and memory on his tongue as she, fiercely, kissed him for the last time. She gave him back salt and regret. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered as she found her slippers and moved towards the door.  
  
Her hand was on the knob leading away from this magical, momentary, whore's fantasy when she turned and offered him one last caress with her eyes.  
  
One last stinging kiss.  
  
"Be sure to tell Jason that I will see him in Hell."  
  
***  
  
"How do you know she'll be here?"  
  
Those devilish, thin, lips quirked with cold amusement. "The same way you do. Instinct. The way she tastes."  
  
Michael's hands fisted to keep from wrapping around the other man's throat. Because he knew...he knew Jason was right.  
  
Once Caroline was in a man's blood, he had her there forever. In his heart, in his head, in his soul.  
  
He knew her deepest desires.  
  
He knew how she liked her beignets, hot and crisp from the patisserie in the morning.  
  
He knew she would break open Lorenzo Alcazar's secrets...and die trying to protect her child.  
  
Just as he knew that was exactly what Jason intended.  
  
Love inevitably made you wise.  
  
Up until the moment it made you a fool. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 8/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: Everything is coming to a head. How far would you go for the man you love?  
  
Queen of Angels was a convent set off the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, a former rumrunner's hideaway converted into a bastion of more holy pursuits.  
  
Few people knew that it existed, so steeped were they in the city's multitude of sins.  
  
Caroline had laughed the first time she set foot on the grounds, clutching her fragile bundle to her chest, sure that God would strike her dead.  
  
"You have never...? With a man...? *Ever*?"  
  
Sister Leticia had laughed, too, gently. "No, Senora Benson. We are brides of Christ and he does not show his love in a physical form."  
  
"But you'll love my baby, won't you? Hold him? He...he likes to be held, rocked. He's a good Southern boy, so if you sing 'Dixie,' he goes right to sleep."  
  
"No te preocupes, Senora. He will be safe here. Always."  
  
Now, nearly seven years later, the words of the honorable Mrs. Christ were a lie.  
  
Everyone lied, it seemed, no matter how they lived their life.  
  
False, wasted elegance...austere, sterile, simplicity.  
  
As the carriage drew up to the wrought iron gates, Caroline knew she would not be struck dead...not this time...not unless she could take Jason Morgan with her.  
  
This was no lie.  
  
Simply a promise.  
  
***  
  
The tip of the cheroot glowed in the darkness, the pungent scent of the tobacco hanging heavy in the thick air. It was the only indicator that Jason stood separate from the marshy ground... that he was something other than dirt and mud and dying life.  
  
"You may leave, if you want."  
  
"I intend to see this through," he assured.  
  
In the shadow of the abbey, Michael felt the weight of God's eyes and he knew, he knew he must bear witness all the way to the end... so that when he came to judgment, he knew exactly why he was going to Hell.  
  
He hoped Elizabeth wept for him... because no one else would have any tears. Not after this.  
  
It had begun with the three of them and so it would finish. A thief, a killer, and a whore.  
  
"You know...when I was eleven, I watched my brother Alan die." Jason laughed, softly, and the cheroot floated like a torch guiding the way. "So weak. So useless. No honor. I put a nail beneath his saddle... and when he hit that tree and snapped his neck... I took his horse."  
  
The hand around his wrist caught him by surprise. As did the sudden sting of ash and fire against his skin.  
  
"Is that what you did to me, Michael? Dump me in the swamp and take my horse?" The whisper was sharp against his throat. "Steal my best mare and her prize colt?"  
  
"I have a wife," he reminded, careful to show no fear. "I have a reputation."  
  
"You have an affection for Caroline. And for me," was the silken counter-attack, punctuated by the still-smoking cheroot being ground, slowly, into his flesh. "Who do you love more, Michael? Me? Her? Your child bride?"  
  
It took every ounce of his strength to wrench away from the taller man, to spin around without showing any attention to the burns. He took a deep breath, recalled that he wasn't simply a slave to this age-old friendship, this maddening push-pull of destruction. He had power. He *was* power. "Me," he said, quietly, firmly. "I love *me* more, Jason...and I do what is best for *me*. "  
  
"And what is best for you, Michael? Hmmm?" The back of a hand against his cheek, knuckles brushing against his day growth of beard with just enough threat to raise his hackles.  
  
He could lie now. To save his own life. Perhaps others.  
  
He opened his mouth to speak...but it was *her* voice that rang out into the night, that echoed off the barrel of her pistol.  
  
"It's best for him if you die, Jason. Forever, this time."  
  
And so it would finish.  
  
A thief, a killer, and a whore. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 9/?  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far?  
  
The weight of the pistol was something solid, tangible, in her hands. She had loaded it in the carriage, feeling each chamber of the Colt .44 revolver with her fingertips as she inserted the bullets. No fireplace pokers this time...no. Caroline was determined to finish what she had started. To make sure she would be safe. To make sure that no man would ever hurt her, use her, again.  
  
No man...and no monster.  
  
Because that was what Jason Morgan was. A monster. His eyes glowed like the spark of flint and steel as he stared back at her, his lips curling into a smile that had once aroused her... and later chilled her.  
  
There *were* good memories. From before.  
  
That beautiful man in the billiards parlor of the bordello... not at all shocked when she removed an item of clothing every time he sank a ball into a pocket. Laughing with him as Michael told a story about finessing a shipment of supplies away from a stockade runner. Late nights finishing bottles of brandy by the fire and dreaming of riches...  
  
There were bad memories, too. And they were worse.  
  
The bruises. The cuts. The constant apologies... and then the ones never made.  
  
"Are you going to shoot, Sweetheart?" he wondered, softly, in that remote, empty, voice that had once sounded so charming, so polite.  
  
Her grip didn't waver. Neither did her resolve. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Michael was still, like water, simply waiting to show what might lie beneath his surface. "Miguel has not been harmed," he murmured, as if they were at a ball trading pleasantries...and so they had been, only a day before. "Sister Leticia has him in the chapel. Waiting."  
  
She did not have the luxury of relief. She did not have any luxuries at all. Not anymore.  
  
Jason moved forward just one step, flicking his cheroot into the damp grass and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. "Did you like my gift, Caroline?" he asked, tilting his head. "Did you appreciate Lorenzo?"  
  
She smiled, then, despite herself. Hands on her body, lips in her hair... that wondrous look in eyes a far kinder blue. "I did...and I am touched, Darlin'," she drawled. "I didn't think you quite cared enough to send me a lover so much better than you ever were."  
  
Michael made a sound like a cough and she recognized it as his attempt to disguise his mirth. If it weren't for the darkness, she knew his damnable dimples would betray his amusement. As it stood, Jason knew they were both mocking him. Always that shift of power in their uneasy alliance of three. Her fingers danced on the trigger, drawing the hammer back.  
  
"Once a whore, always a whore." Jason shrugged, the fine lines of his coat moving like snakeskin with the action. "Only this time, you will be the one to pay."  
  
"You couldn't get the best of me six years ago. What makes you think you will this time?" she countered. "Michael?" Both men shifted and she kept both in her sight line. She had learned, the hard way, that no one...no one...was truly trustworthy. "You must know he's the one who rolled your body into the swamp, Jason. And after he was done, he came back and we drove you from our blood. You must know how we did *that*, too...?" she taunted.  
  
"Caroline..." Michael cautioned, but she ignored him.  
  
"Who's the whore? Truly?" she demanded. "Me? Or your good man right there? He sold his soul, Jason, a thousand times. But at least he *has* one."  
  
"Are you certain of that?" Even in the moonlight, with the scent of the bayou so close and thick, his arrogance was sharp, like brimstone. "Not that it matters. Souls can be bought. Traded. Owned."  
  
There was a heavy clicking noise that Caroline recognized.  
  
Michael raised a gun, and his mirth had long since vanished. The palpable regret was the most frightening thing she had ever seen in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered.  
  
"We're all sorry," she countered, shrugging wearily. "We're the sorriest bunch of sinners in the state."  
  
But she did not lower her weapon.  
  
Nor did he lower his.  
  
And perhaps they would have stayed in that stand-off for eternity, never giving Jason Morgan the satisfaction of seeing either of them spill blood...were it not for one, simple voice in the darkness.  
  
One distraction no whore could afford.  
  
Love.  
  
"Caroline...querida...*stop*!"  
  
As Lorenzo's words echoed through the air, so did the crack-bang of a pistol report.  
  
No man would ever hurt her again.  
  
No man...and no monster. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 10/10  
  
Author: Mala  
  
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com  
  
Fandom: "General Hospital"  
  
Rating/Classification: 'R', LoCa, SoCa, J/S, AU.  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.  
  
Summary: There's no such thing as 'too far' in love. Is there?  
  
Notes: Well, it's over. Was it worth it?  
  
No woman was born wanting to be a whore. Pulled squalling from the womb, an innocent baby never planned to use its body to give a man pleasure.  
  
Growing up in Florida, amidst the orange blossoms, all Caroline Benson had wanted to be...was a princess. Not a seamstress. Not a nurse. Not a nun. Not a whore. Simply cherished...adored.  
  
She remembered being a tiny girl, sitting in the back of a horse cart as her father clicked the reins and moved through the grove. She would wave to her subjects...the men and women picking fruit... dreaming that, one day, they would all bow and curtsy to a great lady of the South. No, of the world.  
  
Tired of smelling like citrus, of breathing it, of living it...of watching her mamma and papa grow mottled and tinted like the very oranges they hawked...she ran away from home at fifteen, seeking her fortune.  
  
And she had found it.  
  
Dewy, bloodstained, grass beneath her palms. A multitude of sounds rushing against her eardrums. Voices, the breeze, her own heartbeat.  
  
Lorenzo. "Caroline...are you all right?"  
  
Michael. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"I...I don't think so."  
  
Two pairs of firm hands helped her rise, and she did not stumble. No, she stood, regal, above the fallen body only a few feet away.  
  
She had not missed. Her aim with a gun was infinitely truer than with a poker. And Michael's bullet had found its mark as well. Jason Morgan's unholy eyes were obliterated. He would have no face to show to the Devil. The leeches in the swamp, this time, would have a veritable feast before them.  
  
She was not a killer.  
  
She was whole.  
  
***  
  
A hush seemed to fall over the room...at least the female portion, when the man appeared at the top of the stairs and was announced as a plantation owner from Venezuela. He was dressed impeccably, from head to toe, in black. From the crisp frock coat to his Hessians to the scarf at his throat. Everything about him, in fact, was dark... except for his eyes. Even from this distance, it was clear they were a startling blue. His hair was just a tad too long for fashion...deliciously indecent.  
  
Just the way she liked it.  
  
"Oh...oh, he's married," the other woman warned from behind her rapidly moving fan. "Disgusting, really. They say he doesn't even have a mistress because he spends all night in his little wifey's bed. It's a wonder he hasn't expired from exhaustion."  
  
"Disgusting", thought Maxie, really meant Faith was jealous.  
  
There wasn't a man in New Orleans safe from Faith Flynn's roving eye and her even *more* roving hands. Except for, it seemed, Lorenzo Alcazar.  
  
"Why, Faith...I thought nothing could stop you from trying?"  
  
"Nothing can, Darling." The older woman laughed, huskily, indulgently, at Miss Bobbie's newest girl. "Except a whore's luck...and a wife's aim."  
  
Caroline smiled down at the crowded room, her blue Parisian silk gown complementing her husband's beautiful eyes, and her joy outshining them. They shared an altogether too brazen kiss, but as the society biddies were absent, no one died of apoplexy. Simply envy.  
  
And when Michael Corinthos, himself, moved up to escort the couple to the floor, he bowed over her hand.  
  
He remembered. All too well.  
  
A secret kept between an uneasy alliance of three.  
  
She was a mother. A wife. A lover.  
  
But, first, and foremost, a woman.  
  
A great lady of the world.  
  
--the end--  
  
December 2, 2003. 


End file.
